us alone to work. But this one kept going up and down the aisles real slow, her heels clicking on the linoleum tile like a metronome, a sound that echoed in my brain, booming with every step as she kept coming closer.
I sank down in my seat as she came up beside me.
Please don’t notice, I thought.
I breathed a sigh of relief as she kept on going. But two steps past me she froze, then slowly turned and stared down at me. I lifted my eyes only to glance at her, to see if she was really looking at me the way I felt her looking. It was enough—she caught my gaze and held it for a moment. A brief smile flickered across her face, then she let me go and kept on walking.
She didn’t look at me again for the rest of the period as we finished our tests and handed them in, but when the bell rang and I sprang up with everyone else, she called me out.
“Chris Parker,” she said, eyeing the name on my test. Everyone froze. “Stay.”
Again, the oohs and aahs, but the nervousness I’d felt when the real Ms. Simpson had held me after class was nothing compared with now. I could feel the drops of sweat along my forehead. I almost bolted, but I knew that it would probably just make things worse, so I sat back down.
After everyone left, she went and closed the door, then came over with that same grin she’d fixed me with earlier. She perched on the desk in front of me, crossing her legs like before, pulling up her skirt a little. I looked away.
“So here you are,” she said. “I found you at last.”
My eyes snapped back. “You’ve been following me?”
She shrugged. “I came across your trail in Springfield a few weeks ago. It was faint, but not faint enough. I’ve always had a nose for young blood.”
Springfield, I thought. Suddenly it all made sense. Although, remembering the sight of that abandoned car glowing in the moonlight, I realized that, deep down, a part of me had known all along.
“So you’re the one,” I said. “You’re the Springfield Killer.”
“Springfield Killer,” she scoffed. “The names these humans come up with. So imaginative, aren’t they? Still,” she said, sighing, “I suppose I deserve it. I got sloppy, you know. Didn’t tie the weights on well enough—stupid girl popped right up and floated to shore as soon as I turned my back.”
“But why’d you have to pick her?”
“The Vitelli girl?”
“No. Ms. Simpson.”
“I traced you to the school. Figured you were probably a teacher, but this is just as good,” she said, her grin widening. “Maybe even better. It didn’t take me long to pick this one. It’s easier when they’re single. Besides, it’s a lovely form, isn’t it,” she said, leaning in toward me.
“You’re not doing a very good job,” I told her. “You’re nothing like the real Ms. Simpson.”
She shrugged. “I’m not really trying. I don’t plan on sticking around.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You know what I want. Even if your mother never told you, you know inside, don’t you.”
Trouble was, she was right. I did know. All of a sudden, I could feel it, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t say anything. I just looked away again.
She sighed again. “Young ones are so difficult,” she said. “They’re hardly worth it. Is this your first form?” she said.
“Second.”
“Let me guess. Two weeks?”
“Three and a half,” I said.
She raised her eyebrows. “Impressive. You don’t have much time left, though. I’ll bet you’ve already started to feel it.”
I nodded. “But it went away,” I said. “The itching stopped.”
“It’ll come back,” she said. “Count on it.”
I hated being there. I hated listening to her. I looked back at the door, hoping someone would come along, but there was nobody in the window.
“Ah,” she said, “you don’t want it to, do you? You like being…what’s his name? Chris? How sweet.”
There it was, that cold, patronizing voice, the kind my mother used when I was at my lowest to chide me for being weak.
She knew she was pissing me off. “Come on, don’t be mad now,” she said. “Most of us get attached to a form at some point, usually in the beginning. But all things come to an end. You’ll find out.”
“But why does it have to come so quickly?” I asked, suddenly forgetting myself. “My mother used to spend months in a form. Once she went over a year.”
“You’re